Unexpected Embraces
by Behindthebook08
Summary: A series of moments in the lives of Hermione Granger and Remus Lupin during, and immediately following, the war. (A severe rewrite of my older series Whispered Sonnets) Please Review!


A/N: First of all, for those who are following my story, After the War, another update is coming soon. Please don't hate me for this!

Second, this is a severe reworking of a series of stories I wrote several years ago titled "Whispered Sonnets," I hope you enjoy and please review!

Disclaimer: Not a single piece of the Harry Potter universe belongs to me, I just love to play with it.

* * *

Hermione hummed softly to herself as she breathed in the night air and walked home. Her movie had just let out, and despite the disappointing and uninspired movie, she was more relaxed than she had been in weeks.

It has been just under a month since Hermione had a proper day off from the Order, not that she had complained. In fact, they had forced her to take the weekend, worried that she would break if she didn't get some rest. Hermione rolled her eyes at the thought, _resting_ wasn't going to end the war—save their friends and family. She had no real interest in resting.

A small smile appeared on her face, she was happy to see her parents' though. It was so hard these days, visiting them. They didn't know about the war, not really. They knew that something was going on, but had understood when Hermione told them that she simply _couldn't _tell them about it. They were curious, but happier not knowing the details. While it made things easier, it also made it harder to be around them. How could she explain the exhaustion, the nightmares, and the unusual bruises which peppered her body?

She wasn't _just_ the brains; sure, she spent hours pouring over books with Remus and researching Horcruxes and tactics—but she also spent hours training both magically and physically. These days she could beat most of the Order in a duel—Professors' Flitwick and McGonagall would always out duel her, but she was alright with that. The fact that she could knock out two of the top Auror's at the ministry, was certainly enough for her, not that Tonks and Kingsley seemed overly pleased.

It was the physical training that left marks. Bruises from wooden swords and martial arts, sore muscles from running several hours a day. Her parents were afraid of her, she could tell. She knew that she looked different from the girl they had put on the Hogwarts express at eleven. She was fit and muscular, and her eyes had changed. The simple excitement and intelligence which had shone was still there, but it was accompanied by suspicion, vigilance, and strength. Hermione Granger wasn't just a bookworm anymore, she was a warrior.

It was something her parents had noticed this weekend; she could see it in their eyes. That's why they were so afraid, and that's why she had disappeared to the movies for a couple of hours—to give them space, let them adjust. They didn't even know who she was anymore. She sighed to herself, things would be better soon. They could win this war, she knew that. They had the wit, the determination, and the heart.

They had no other choice _but_ to win. So they would.

She felt hope swell in her then, they really could do it. And afterwards, when that was all over, she would finish school, and mend things with her family. She would have time to properly start a relationship with Ron, if he could wait that long for her.

Things would be good.

That feeling of hope quickly diminished as she turned the corner on to her street. All the houses looked normal, none of her neighbors were disturbed—but that was because none of her neighbors were magical. They couldn't see the green haze which filled the air several blocks away, nor the terrifying shape which hovered above the Granger home.

Suddenly all of Hermione's training lay forgotten—her hours of being reminded to stay calm, check corners, and wait for help. She let out a strangled cry and took off running, pulling out her wand as she sprinted. "Mum! Dad!" she cried out desperately, not caring that she was making a scene, and that her neighbors were now glancing oddly at her through their windows.

As she ran she felt a stitch forming in her side, she couldn't properly breathe anymore, but she ignored it all. She burst through the front door, screaming for her mother and was greeted with a wand to her face, and a smirking Bellatrix Lestrange.

She stopped quickly, glancing around the room—Her mother sat, horrified and tied to a chair in the middle of the room. Blood seeped through her clothing in several places, and she had the haunted look of someone who has suffered the cruciatus curse. "Mum," she whispered desperately. Then she followed her mother's line of vision—her father was on the floor, face down and unmoving. Just from looking at her mother she knew the truth.

She swung out instinctively, feeling the satisfying crunch as her fist connected with Bellatrix's jaw, "You bitch!" she screamed, lunging for the woman. Bellatrix was caught unawares—momentarily forgetting her magical training; she wasn't used to her victims attacking her physically.

Hermione bit, scratched, kicked, and punched every available inch of skin until strong arms pulled her off of the witch, throwing her across the room. Hermione hit the wall in a heap and crumpled uselessly to the floor. Ropes were binding her before she could even consider another attack.

Bella was looking slightly worse for the wear as she stood up and attempted to reclaim some of her dignity, "How dare you touch me, Mudblood! This is why your type can't be allowed in our society, resorting to such barbaric behavior."

"Fuck you," Hermione spit.

"What do you think, Rosier? I think we should teach the little slut a lesson, don't you?" The imposing man chuckled darkly.

"I will happily do my part," he said with a smirk.

A whimper came from the other side of the room, "Please," Elizabeth Granger begged, "Just leave my daughter alone. We'll give you whatever you want, just leave her be."

Bellatrix cackled madly, "Sorry, Mrs. G. But your daughter is _exactly _what we want. Lucky for you—we will be leaving her alone, at least while you're still alive." Elizabeth looked slightly calmer at this, hopeful that Hermione could be saved, that she wouldn't have to suffer. Hermione knew Bellatrix too well at this point; she knew exactly what was being planned.

"Bellatrix you leave her the hell alone, she has _nothing _to do with this," Hermione growled. "I'm the one you want, take me, do as you wish with me. But leave my mother alone."

Bellatrix laughed again, dancing about the room madly. "Now why would I do that, little one? When it will be so much more fun to torture her into insanity? And, AND you will get to watch! Isn't that marvelous! Front row tickets!"

Hermione felt tears in her eyes, and desperately tried to still them. She wouldn't give Bellatrix that particular satisfaction. "Mum, I'm so sorry," she said quietly. "I'm so sorry for involving you in all this mess. I—I love you."

Hermione's mother nodded, and opened her mouth to respond, but before any words could be spoken Bellatrix was gleefully shouting, "Crucio!"

Elizabeth Granger's screams echoed off of the small home as Bellatrix continued her ministrations. The witch had asked Hermione for information, tried to torture her mother until information was revealed, but Hermione didn't have any information. Harry and Dumbledore hadn't told her much of their plans—probably for this exact reason.

Sure, she knew about the Horcruxes, and some of the possible plans. But she didn't have any information which would have stopped the crazed witch. Bellatrix wanted places and dates, she wanted numbers. That was information that the younger witch just didn't have.

Hermione doubted Bellatrix would have stopped anyways, her best hope would have been her mother dying mercifully—but that seemed unlikely at this point.

Her mother was impressive, especially for a muggle. Bellatrix was happy to point out this fact—most muggles only last an hour or so before losing their minds to madness. Most witches and wizards—no more than two. Elizabeth Granger was _exceptional_. She lasted two hours and forty-three minutes before she broke.

Even once madness overtook her, Bellatrix continued to play. She didn't care that Hermione's mother was practically vegetative; she still found enjoyment from the twitching of the body and wailing screams which erupted from Hermione.

She couldn't remember when she had started screaming.

When the Order arrived, having finally realized that there was a disturbance at the Granger house, they were immediately in action. They killed Bellatrix Lestrange before she could escape, and chased after Rosier's apparition trail. They tried to revive Daniel Granger, but found he had been killed almost immediately after Bellatrix had arrived. A St. Mungo's team arrived and took Hermione's mother away, promising to care for her as best they could.

All the while Hermione just sat, silently staring into the dark room, seeing nothing. It was Remus who finally approached her, everyone else felt awkward—afraid. They didn't know how to handle the shocked woman. But Remus approached her quietly, gently cutting the ropes which bound her and kneeling in front of her. "Hermione?" he asked quietly, "Can you hear me, love?"

She looked at him numbly. "Eleven minutes," she whispered.

Remus furrowed his eyebrows, had she been tortured too? No—no, not Hermione. They couldn't do that to Hermione. "Hermione?" he whispered, desperately hoping she would be alright. "What do you mean?"

"She snapped eleven minutes ago," Hermione whispered. A look of horror dawned on Remus' face as he realized what she was saying; he glanced over his shoulder, to the wall she was facing. A small clock sat on the mantle, clicking delicately. His head snapped back as Hermione spoke again, "She was so strong—she held out for so long. They were only eleven minutes too late."

Remus gently brushed the hair away from Hermione's face, tucking it behind her ear, "I'm so sorry, Hermione," he whispered. "I'm going to take you out of here, alright?"

She nodded numbly.

"Do you want to go to headquarters, or somewhere more quiet?" He asked carefully.

"Quiet," she whispered. "No more questions."

Remus nodded and took her gently in his arms, "Okay, love. You'll come home with me for tonight, no more questions.

He took her carefully from the house, whispering to Kingsley where he was taking her, and that she could be questioned tomorrow, or the next day. Kingsley nodded, "Does she need anything?"

"Ask Tonks to gather a bag of clothes for her, so she doesn't have to come back right away. She knows where I live, so she can bring it through the floo." Kingsley nodded.

"If she needs anything, Remus, anything at all, just get in touch," Remus nodded, and apparated swiftly away.

* * *

It was two years after the death of her parents that the final battle had occurred. She was twenty-one years old, fit, beautiful, and completely unstable.

Something had broken in her that day in her childhood home; everyone could see that, some important part of Hermione had disappeared with her Mother's sanity and her father's life. She had stopped laughing, stopped smiling. She worked throughout the night, researching spells and potions—creating magic which no one had ever heard of, inventing potions which were never thought possible.

She prepared for the final battle. While the rest of the Order worked hard, and Hermione worked endlessly. She and Remus were regularly found shouting at each other in the library. He tried to bring her back, he tried harder than anyone—constantly needling her to go to sleep, constantly pointing out which of her ideas left morality behind. She didn't care. She didn't care if her ideas were _wrong_; she only cared about ending this war. If ten hundred innocents had to die in the process, then so be it. The war had to end.

They had stopped speaking a month before the battle—she had proposed a plan, a plan to bring the death eaters to them. "They want _us_," she insisted. "They are sure that if they kill Harry, Ron, and I, they'll win. So let's give them us! We lure them into a trap and start the battle on our terms. Stop waiting for them."

Remus had finally lost his temper; he had claimed that she was just trying to get herself, and her boys, killed. He had told her that she was acting like a child, and that she needed to start thinking about people other than herself.

Predictably, Harry and Ron had agreed with Hermione. She had always planned for them, and had never steered them wrong. No matter what the rest of the Order said, the trio would not be moved. It left the Order without options. Either follow the suicide mission Hermione laid out, or send their family to fight alone. It really wasn't ever a question.

That had all led to this moment, as Hermione sprinted down the empty hall, footsteps echoing off the corridor walls; this moment when Hermione realized she had done it all wrong. They had lured the death eaters, they had destroyed the horcruxes. As far as she could tell the Order was beating the Death Eaters. But her boys were separated from her, and they were being hunted.

She could feel the presence as they exited the Room of Requirement, she could feel the evil approaching. Seeing a death eater waiting for them, she sent her boys ahead. She was the best duelist in the Order, and she would happily hold off this sadistic bastard for her boys. "Go," she said quickly, "Set the trap, I'll meet you there in ten minutes."

They had listened without question. She was Hermione, she was always logical, always right, and there was no way a death eater would beat her—and they were right. Hermione killed the villain in moments, and even when two more appeared, she hadn't been worried. She disarmed them quickly, killing them without remorse. This was a war, and there were no more prisoners.

She had immediately sprinted after her boys—and been met with silence. They moved faster than she anticipated, hurling herself down the stairs she breathed a sigh of relief when she saw them turning a corner at the end of the hall. She moved quickly—the feeling of dread still settled in the pit of her stomach.

And then she heard it—the cruel laugh and the quick swish of a wand. "Avada Kedavra." Two thumps hit the ground, and she knew it was over. Tom had finally learned his lesson about theatricality—it didn't win you wars. He had killed them quickly, and without any warning.

She skidded into the hall and saw as Harry's body hit the ground, right next to Ron's. They hadn't checked their corners—how many hours had she spent warning them of the importance of clearing a room as they entered it? She had learned her lesson from Bellatrix, there was no time for running into a room with only half a mind. She had lectured and lectured, but they never learned.

Now they were dead, and she was alone, listening to the gleeful disgusting laugh of Lord Voldemort. For a brief moment the prophecy danced through her mind, only Harry could kill him, it was over. They were all finished.

And then something clicked. "No," she whispered.

Tom Riddle turned slowly, a smirk on his face. "Aah, the little Mudblood finally decided to show up. You know, I was in a bit of a rush with these too—but I do believe we could have some fun." She felt his magic probing her mind, and felt her own power rising.

"No," she said again.

The self-proclaimed Dark Lord simply smirked again. "Haven't you heard, little girl? Potter was the only one who could kill me—he's dead. I've won."

"Hey Tom," she whispered darkly. "Divination is a wooly subject, at best." As she finished her statement he glared at her, infuriated by her gall, but as she raised her arm at him she didn't give a damn what any prophecy said—she was going to kill this evil bastard.

"Avada Kedavra," she spoke so quietly that even Tom could scarcely hear it, but that hadn't stopped the power behind the spell. Hermione's fury and grief had all piled into that one moment of rage and had fired the ultimate spell. As his body fell to the floor, not ten feet from her boys, she felt the magic around her break, and her whole body convulse into itself as she fell to the floor.

Her terrible wails were heard throughout the castle as the lost magic spun around her. Without seeing it, without it being announced, everyone knew that the battle had been finished—that good had won out. The few death eaters who still survived began running—most were caught before they could leave Hogwarts grounds. In the end, less than twenty survived the final battle.

Remus Lupin was on the third floor when it ended. He had just beaten Greyback, had watched his carcass turn to dust after a well-aimed incendio charm. As he let out a sigh of relief he suddenly felt himself twisting and turning, reappearing unexpectedly on the sixth floor next to a shattered Hermione Granger.

"Hermione?" He whispered, reaching out for the huddled girl. "How did I get here?"

"I—I'm not sure. I—I think I might have summoned you. I'm sor—sorry, I did—didn't mean too. My magic is-is all out of control, Remus."

"It's okay," he said calmly, "Everything will be okay." He glanced around the room and was shocked to see the three bodies surrounding them. He sat heavily next to Hermione—they were gone.

Hermione was crying heavily, "You were right, Remus. You were so right. It's my fault they're dead, and I'm going to have to live with that. And I—I killed him, Remus. I killed Voldemort." Remus looked up in shock, that wasn't supposed to be possible. "It was supposed to be Harry—it was always supposed to be Harry, but standing here, staring into the open lifeless eyes I suddenly flashed back to my third year—to the moment when I realized divination was a moronic subject. And I just—I didn't believe in it, Remus. Any of it. I just shot off the curse and he died."

Remus was shocked, to say the least. He had never held much faith in Divination, but he held faith I Dumbledore. He always assumed Dumbledore was correct, that he knew something the rest were missing. But Dumbledore was wrong. He looked over at the shivering woman beside him and found himself wrapping his arms around her tightly. "It's okay, Hermione. None of this is your fault," he told her.

She shook her head fiercely, "You told me, you told me what this was, and I didn't listen, and now they're dead."

"Hermione—you saved hundreds of lives tonight, all before killing Tom Riddle. You got the students out, you helped us be prepared. We killed almost all of the Death Eaters, and you finished off Voldemort. We lost more than we ever should have—but that was just as likely to happen no matter what the plan. Hermione, you saved the world tonight."

She shook all the more fiercely then, sobbing as she desperately clutched his faded robes. "Remus, I don't care about the world. I just want them back. I just want my boys back."

He closed his eyes, willing himself to keep it together. He knew exactly how she felt; he had felt the exact same way more than twenty years ago. "I know, Mione. I know," he whispered, and he held her all the tighter.

* * *

Staring up at the gates of Hogwarts, Hermione had felt a tug of hope which had been absent for so long. Today was the day that she would reclaim her life.

Three years ago she had ended the final battle, and simultaneously lost the only family she had left. The death of her parents had left her emotionless and cold, she had been risky, determined, and devoid of all life. The final battle had an entirely different effect.

She had spent years cultivating the perfect plan to vanquish their enemy. Her time was spent training, researching, and plotting. With that out of her life, and no family or friends to fall back on, she just didn't know what to do with herself. Remus Lupin had tried to help, but she could barely look at him. He had been the only one brave enough to fight her, to tell her she was wrong, and she had dismissed his ideas completely. Yet he had been there holding her safely in his arms, after the battle was done—after her mistakes had destroyed her family. He was always there.

So she pushed him away. He didn't need more pain in his life, and she couldn't take the guilt. She moved into a flat by herself, lived off of her ministry award, and avoided people at all costs—until today.

When she had read about the reopening of Hogwarts in the paper, she knew that there would be need for professors, and it called to her. She finally had a reason to leave her mess of a flat, to pursue something. Hermione Granger was determined to become Professor Granger.

Walking up the path towards to school she couldn't help but wonder what class the Headmistress would place her for. She was more than certified to teach a number of subjects, having continued to study as she hid away from the world. While she was hiding from the world she spent her days studying books, journals, and magazines. She worked on inventing to potions and spells, and she perfected an Animagus form. These days she was a Mistress of Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions. And her real-world experience should make her more than suitable to teach Ancient Runes or Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Humming softly to herself she realized she would be happy in any of those classes, she would just have to see where this interview led. As she approached the doors she smiled to see her old Professor awaiting her arrival, "Headmistress McGonagall, how wonderful to see you," she said with a smile.

"Hermione, how many times must I tell you, call me Minerva?"

Hermione nodded lightly, "Minerva then. I'm so glad that you've made time to see me."

"There will always be time for you, Miss. Granger. It's been so long, I have to admit I was surprised when I received your letter," the older witch said with a smile, "But I am thrilled to see you. I do hope you won't disappear again."

"I wouldn't dream of it, Minerva."

As they entered the Minerva's office, Hermione took a seat and gladly accepted Minerva's usual offered tea.

"Now, Hermione," Minerva began. "I understand you've become interested in teaching recently."

Hermione nodded, "I have," she answered with a large smile, "That was always my goal when I was a student, but obviously life got a bit off track for a while. I very much look forward to picking up my life where I left off, and I so appreciate the opportunity from you."

Minerva looked at her questioningly for a moment, before sad realization clouded her features. "Hermione—I'm extremely sorry if my letter mislead you in some way. I brought you here to talk to you about this goal, and about the possibility of you teaching in the future. I'm not offering you a position at this time."

"What?" Hermione asked, shocked. "I don't understand, you have so many positions to fill—and I was the top student in my class. I was in line for Head Girl, before I had to stop to help Harry. I'm more than qualified. Why wouldn't you choose me?"

Minerva cringed lightly, she had heard that the young woman wasn't entirely stable these days, and she desperately hoped that she wouldn't damage the progress she had made. "Hermione—you are still extremely young and quite inexperienced in this regard."

Hermione coughed, "Inexperienced?"

"Yes, I'm interested in helping you to gain the necessary experience, but I can't offer you a position as a professor at this time."

"Inexperienced," she repeated again. "In my letter I offered myself for Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense, and Ancient Runes. In what ways am I inexperienced in those fields?'

"Hermione, please try to understand…"

"I mean, I'm an Animagus." She said lowly, as the tea cup in her hand shattered. "And I kept myself and two others alive for nearly a year in a tent by transfiguring food, shelter, and clothing for us. But, I suppose a bit more experience could be helpful there. What kind of experience did you have when you started working at Hogwarts? You were only twenty-two, if I recall correctly."

"Hermione," Minerva attempted to interrupt again.

"And I suppose translating unknown languages and runes for several years as I locked myself in the back of a library, discovering forgotten spells and potions, doesn't really count for much experience in regards to Ancient Runes. I mean—everyone has done that, haven't they?"

"Miss. Granger!" Minerva warned, her volume rising as she heard the glass of two mirrors shattering across the room.

"In regards to potions—well there I really am lacking. I suppose every second year could brew Polyjuice potion in a toilet, given the opportunity. Oh! And we shouldn't forget my discovery of a way to instill a pain killer in Wolfsbane, taking away more than sixty percent of the pain felt by the patient. I'm sure that's not a big deal to anyone, is it?" Hermione ranted on, as potion after potion exploded in Minerva's cabinets. "And I am certainly not prepared for a Defense class, having helped teach one before—in my fifth year. We'll even skip that little part or my resume where I vanquished Lord 'fucking' Voldemort. That doesn't earn me any credit at ALL."

"Hermione Granger, you will contain yourself!" Minerva shouted, having had quite enough. "I am well acquainted with your impressive resume. There is no need for this childishness. You are young, you have no training in education, and you have been unstable and missing for the past two years. I will _not_ have a person in this castle who I feel could be a danger to my students." Despite the wards surrounding the castle, the windows of the office shattered.

"What do you need to be trustworthy, Minerva? What kind of training will have me prepared?" she spat. "Do you have to be dead? Because I've done everything else. I'm sorry—I haven't quite mastered that skill yet. Shall I owl you when I figure it out?"

"Hermione," Minerva begged, desperate to help her prized pupil. "Please. I am glad you're back here, and I brought you here to offer the chance to study under a professor—apprentice so to speak. It would give you a chance to learn more, and a chance to gain a better control over your magic."

"I am _perfectly_ in control of my magic," Hermione muttered.

Minerva raised an eyebrow, "Then all of the glass in my office just magically shattered itself during that impressive diatribe?"

Suddenly the Hermione Minerva had known for the last fourteen years reappeared, and she blushed deeply, "I'm so sorry, Minerva. I didn't realize—I just lost my temper. I'm sorry. Please—I just want to teach, I just want to help."

"Hermione, my invitation for you as a student stands. It will always be there. But I cannot offer you a position as a Professor at this time. I'm very sorry." Hermione just nodded lightly.

"I'll just be going then, thank you for your time," she croaked.

"Hermione, wait," Minerva said, stopping the young witch. "Let someone take you home, I know you're capable, but you're upset. Just patronize my old mind, I would feel better."

Hermione pressed her fingers over her eyes for a moment, "Minerva, really I'm alright. I'm just embarrassed." She looked towards her old mentor, and seeing the worry clearly written across her usually impenetrable face, she nodded. "Alright, alright."

Minerva sent off a patronus, and it was quickly responded to with a knock at her door and the smiling face of Remus Lupin. "Remus, thank you so much for coming."

"Always a pleasure, Minerva. I've been hoping to catch up with Hermione anyways, it has been some time."

Hermione smiled painfully, "Thank you Minerva, I will talk with you soon."

As the two walked out of the stairwell, Hermione immediately turned to Remus, "Look Remus, I'm extremely thankful for your help. But I just want to go home, I'll be fine, I promise. Minerva was just worrying."

Remus looked at her carefully, and shook his head. "Sorry, pet. Can't do it. I promised Minerva I'd take you home, and I will do just that. As soon as I see you settled in your lovely little flat, I'll leave you be and allow you to return to your hermity ways."

Hermione groaned, "You're a pain in the ass, Remus Lupin."

He just shrugged, "That's why you like me so much."

Remus could clearly remember the last time he had brought Hermione back to her small flat. It was shortly after the death of Harry and Ron. She had just hunted down her twelfth escaped Death Eater, and was prepared to leave in search of the thirteenth when Remus had been called.

Kingsley had taken over as Head of the Order of the Phoenix, and he knew that Hermione needed to stop hunting—she was becoming more and more reckless by the day and refused to follow any of the safety protocols. He also knew that she rarely listened to anyone, but when she did listen, it was to Remus Lupin.

She had been furious that day, and completely unresponsive to any attempts at conversation. She was angry that Kingsley wouldn't cooperate with her, she was angry that he had thought it appropriate to call Remus to bring her home, and she was furious that Remus had agreed to any of it.

Upon entering her flat, she had shouted at Remus furiously and he had shouted back—he had never been afraid to argue with her. Perhaps he should have been. When she accused of him acting like a glorified babysitter, he had responded by suggesting that she stop acting as if she needed a babysitter. That is when the windows had shattered and her books had all come flying off the shelves.

She had broken down again, but had quickly pushed him away. She hadn't spent time alone with him since that day. She hadn't spent time with anyone since that day.

Today was different though. There was no anger, no yelling. She was just silent.

They arrived at the entrance to her building and she turned to him. "Thank you for accompanying me, Remus."

He smiled nervously, "I believe that I insisted on seeing you settled _in_ your flat, Hermione."

She glared at him, "Oh won't you come up, dear Professor Lupin. Have a cup of tea, and a biscuit," she grumbled sarcastically.

"Oh I wasn't expecting the invitation, but sure, tea would be lovely, Miss. Granger."

She huffed as she stomped up the stairs, but allowed him to follow her into her flat. His eyes immediately widened as he saw the state of it.

When Hermione had lived at Grimmauld Place during the war she had been meticulously tidy, to the point of it being rather annoying, and many of the occupants speculating that she may suffer from some mild compulsive disorder. But this—this was filthy.

She had fixed the windows, but it appeared that she had never reshelved the books. The shelves were full of haphazardly stacked books, while the floor was simply covered with them. Every available surface was covered in rolls of parchment and books, stacked up or left open and marked. There was a terrible scent wafting in from the kitchen, and partial potion bottles scattered throughout the room—quite a few of them broken.

"Hermione," he started, but was quickly interrupted.

"Thank you for taking me home, Remus," she said sternly. "Perhaps we can have tea another time—I'm in no mood to entertain."

"Hermione, you can't keep living like this."

Her eyes snapped quickly up to him, "I'm sure you remember the way to the door, Remus."

Despite her obvious dismissal, Remus made his way to her couch, moving some of the books to the ground he sat down next to her. "Hermione, please don't push me out again."

She sighed heavily, "Remus, I wouldn't push you out if you would just stop judging everything I do. The last time I talked to you, I ended up being called a child. Today, you walked in here and were immediately ready to jump in and save the day. I don't _need_ saving, Remus. I need people to understand and just let me be."

"Hermione, I understand that—I do. But you can't keep living like this."

"People need to stop saying that!" she shouted, violently shoving a book off of her side table. "As if you understand, as if you know what I'm going through. Leave me alone, Remus!"

Remus attempted to stay calm, "Hermione, I really do understand what you're dealing with," she snorted and suddenly every ounce of compassion flew out the window. "That's it, I'm done." He snapped, and her eyes widened. "Get up, Hermione."

She furrowed her eyebrows as he stood up, "What?"

"Get up," he said, taking her arm and pulling her to her feet.

She tore her arm from his grasp violently, "Fuck you, Lupin. Newsflash! You're not my professor anymore, and I'm not worried about losing any bloody house points."

"I'm not your professor," he snapped, "But I am someone who actually gives a damn about what happens to you, and I'm someone who understands all too well what you're going through. I'm sorry that you're hurting, but pity parties are pathetic, and you need to snap out of it!"

"You don't understand anything. Just back off, I'll handle this in my own way," she snarled sitting back down.

"What don't I understand, Hermione? I don't understand why you're not eating; I don't understand why you're living in filth, or why you don't speak anymore. I certainly don't understand why you're, frankly, being a bitch to everyone. But understand or not, you can't keep doing this to yourself, or you're going to end up dead!"

"You understand, you understand. Everyone fucking understands!" She shouted, "You don't understand anything!" She raked a hand through her hair violently. "_No one_ understands, but what does it matter? Who gives a damn how I behave at this point? Who is going to stop me? Everyone who gave a damn about who I was is dead. So why should I care?"

"Maybe you've forgotten," Remus whispered, sitting heavily beside her again. "I actually _do _understand. I've been alone for over twenty years now."

Hermione failed to mask the shock which flickered across her face—bringing the actual Hermione back for a moment. "Damnit. I'm sorry Remus, I..I wasn't thinking."

Remus took a calming breath, "I know, Hermione. Just try and remember who you're talking to occasionally."

Hermione nodded silently for a moment, "Remus—I know you're worried. But remember, it took you time. Hell, you're still dealing with it. Don't rush me."

"Hermione, it's been three years," he said carefully, "It's time to start living again."

"I don't want to." She whispered, staring at her feet.

"I know, but it will get better." He said softly, nudging her shoulder with his own. "Did I ever tell you that Arthur and I had this same conversation when I was around your age? He was the one who had to shake me out of it. Only I was worse, I was a werewolf and I was drinking exceptional amounts."

"I'm not a werewolf, and I don't drink much, but I do have absolutely no control over my magic these days. Makes me rather dangerous."

Remus shook his head. "You'll figure it out Hermione, I know you will. Those were bad years for me, even after Arthur and I talked. But Hermione, you're not as alone as you think. A lot of people still care. I care."

Staring up at her former professor, Hermione asked, "Do you really, Remus? You know you don't have to be around me, you don't have to say things like that out of some misguided hero complex. I'm a grown up. I can handle it."

"Hermione" he said, taking her hand and gently squeezing it. "I care for you more than I could _ever _tell you."

She nodded lightly, "Remus, I'm sorry I've yelled at you so much—pushed you away. I just—I don't know how to exist anymore," she shrugged. "And you are so damned determined that I'm going to keep doing just that."

Remus smiled slightly at her, "I don't plan on stopping."

* * *

Hermione had been grading papers in her office when a nervous knock grabbed her attention. "Come in," she called.

Neville nervously entered her quarters, smiling slightly. While the young professor's self-confidence had improved greatly since the war, and his appointment as Herbology professor, he still seemed nervous whenever he talked to people, as if he thought he was a bother.

"Neville! How lovely to see you," she exclaimed. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"No thanks Hermione," he mumbled, "How are you?"

"I'm doing alright, swamped as usual. I have over a hundred essays on Animagi left to grade, and I haven't even begun work on my lesson plans for next week." She smiled and pushed her hair away from her face.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" He asked, causing Hermione to smile.

"Thanks, but I'll be alright, I just wish that I didn't have to chaperone this ball tonight. I didn't enjoy it when I had to go as a student, and I would rather not have to deal with it tonight. I'm sure you understand."

Neville nodded slightly, and took a breath. "Well… I can't get you out of it, but I do know something that could make it a bit better—maybe."

Hermione quirked an eyebrow at her friend, "Oh?"

"Well, what if—what if we went together?" He stuttered, "You and me, I mean—us."

"Oh…" Hermione blushed scarlet. "I don't know if that is a good idea," she said, choosing her words carefully. Hermione knew that Neville had harbored a crush on her, on and off, since they were at Hogwarts together. While she adored him as a friend, that was as far as things went for them. "You're just such a good friend, Neville, I—I wouldn't want to jeopardize that."

"Ah," he said, shuffling his feet awkwardly. "I understand."

"No, Neville, wait. It isn't like that." She took a breath, "You're wonderful, and goodness knows I wish I could flick a switch and have feelings for you. It's just, well, I have those feelings for someone else, have for quite some time, and—and I just really don't want to lead you on." Neville's face quickly changed from one of humiliation, to one of surprise.

"Really?" he asked. "So it's true?"

Hermione looked at him in confusion, "What's true?" she muttered.

"Ginny told me, but I didn't believe her. You're usually so…rational." Neville scratched his head. "Well, whatever floats your boat, I suppose. I guess I'll see you later." He stood and started for the door.

"Wait!" Hermione shouted, stopping him quickly, "What are you talking about? What did Ginny tell you? She doesn't know anything about this."

"Well, she told me that you and Professor Lupin were—involved," he explained. "I told her she was crazy. He obviously fancies you; I'd have to be blind to miss that. But you would never even consider getting involved with your former professor, and a werewolf? Definitely not." Hermione's scarlet face darkened. "But I guess I was wrong."

"No!" Hermione started, tripping over her words as she spoke, "I mean, Remus is wonderful, and he being a werewolf has _nothing _to do with it, Neville. And he really isn't that old at all. But he and I, we're –we're just friends. That's all!"

"Well maybe _you_ are," Neville said with a chuckle, "But Hermione, Remus is taken with you. Trust me."

Hermione's voice came out uncharacteristically meek, "How do you know?"

Now it was Neville's turn to blush, he looked down at his feet as he spoke. "Because Hermione, he looks at you the same way I do." Shrugging slightly he turned and made his way for the door. "See you, Hermione."

Hermione drooped in her chair, mouth agape. '_He's wrong,_' she thought to herself, '_Remus, he still sees me as a child; he would never look at me that way._'

Hermione and Remus had reformed their friendship quickly after that day 3 years ago. While it involved a lot of fighting at first, these days they were nearly inseparable. More evening than not they spent debating the most recent magical discoveries, happily discussing various articles and books, and laughing over stories from Remus' Hogwarts days.

He had helped her to control her burst in magical energy, and had helped her control her temper. While she still had episodes from time to time, things rarely exploded. She took that as a win.

It was true that she had developed a mild crush on Remus, she actually laughed at herself then. No, she had fallen in love with the werewolf professor, somewhere amidst the cups of tea and the constant companionship, he had become her best friend, and she had no urge to look for anyone else.

But Remus didn't see her that way. He saw her as a great friend, she wasn't so blind as to miss that, but he also saw her as someone he needed to care for. She unhappily thought that he saw her more like a daughter, niece, or younger sibling, than a lover.

Yet despite these thoughts, she couldn't help wondering. Was it possible that she had been wrong? It was then that she decided that, no matter how unlikely, she needed to get to the bottom of the rumor.

Later that evening, standing in front of the entrance hall, Hermione's hands quavered. She felt as if she was in fourth year again. She inwardly cursed Neville for having appeared at her office door. Ever since his departure, it seemed as if all her logic had left with him. Her mind was swirled with questions, doubts, and thoughts which made her blush. Still she took a deep breath, and opened the door.

It was as if she still had her time-turner. The same lights danced around the great hall, and the same butterflies danced in her stomach. Shaking her head, Hermione forced herself back into her current self. '_You are twenty-seven years old, and here as a Chaperone,_' she told herself, '_not to impress some guy!'_

Her resolve crumbled as quickly as it had come when a soft voice spoke behind her, "Why Miss. Granger, you look lovely." She turned quickly, stumbling slightly in her shoes.

"Remus!" she squeaked, "You—you startled me"

"I'm sorry; I should have made myself known sooner." He said, smiling.

"It's ok." She said, regaining her composure. "And thank you. You look very handsome yourself." She secretly agreed with him. She had drifted away from her usual robes, and put on a gown of shimmering scarlet. It wasn't too revealing or in any way inappropriate, but the color was fantastic, and the cut hugged her body wonderfully.

"I wondered if you would be coming," Remus spoke, "Neville mentioned that you were swamped with papers."

"Oh…well I had agreed to chaperone, you know," she said nervously. Did her voice usually sound so breathy?

"I saw your name on the list." He said with a smile, "I was surprised; you've managed to avoid the Yule ball every year, yet here you are."

"Yea, I didn't have the most glorious time in my fourth year, and I haven't had any urge to reminisce. But Professor McGonagall asked if I could sign up, because she couldn't make it this year. She said that there wouldn't be any Gryffindor women represented." Hermione laughed to herself and smiled at Remus, "I suppose it isn't so bad, though. Good company at least."

"Indeed." Remus said, smiling back at her. "We should probably sit down, dinner will begin soon."

"Of course."

"Would it be alright if I sat with you, Miss Granger?"

"Obviously Remus," she laughed as they started for their table, "I wouldn't have considered letting you leave me here."

The evening passed without any great event. Dinner had been served, and the students danced happily. Remus and Hermione stayed seated throughout most of the evening, talking and laughing. Despite their close friendship, until this night, there had always been a certain separation. They had laughed, gossiped, and argued—but they rarely touched, _not unless someone close to Hermione had just died_, she thought to herself with a huff. But tonight, their knees touched, and their elbows bumped. Tonight he sat next to her, rather than across from her. Tonight he brushed a stray hair out of her eyes.

Near the end of the night Remus began to grow quiet, and Hermione feared she had done something wrong. He surprised her when he suddenly coughed, and said, "Hermione, would you like to dance?"

Hermione nearly dropped her goblet, "What?"

"Would you like to dance?" He repeated shyly. Hermione stared at him agape, and he was suddenly muttering awkwardly. "You know what, never mind. I just thought… but never mind."

"No!" She interrupted, "I would love too! I'm sorry, I was just surprised."

So they danced; first to a slow song, something simple, with minimal in risk. They danced as teachers are supposed to dance, their bodies a wands-length apart. But as the songs changed so did their dancing. It was as if a spell had been cast over them and they couldn't stop—three dances…four. By the time the final dance of the night began they were pressed intimately together, his hand cradled around her back, her head on his shoulder. He whispered to her softly, and she laughed.

What happened next was hard to recall. Remus had continued to whisper to her, and she had felt tingles up her spine. "Should I walk you back to your chambers, Hermione?" He whispered gently, his warm breath tickling her hair. Whether it was the beauty of the night, the softness of her silk robes, or the exceptional amount of elf-made wine she had indulged in, Hermione suddenly felt confident, and sultry. She wanted to make those same shivers climb up his spine.

"That would be lovely." She drawled, "Perhaps you could stay a while? Teach me a thing or two…Professor." Then she kissed the spot just beneath his left ear.

Suddenly Remus coughed. Hermione looked up, and realized that her detached _friend_ had returned to his eyes, accompanied by a sort of self-loathing. She realized her mistake immediately, but it was too late. She had tried to be _sexy_. Tried to be like one of those women from the movies she guiltily enjoyed, but instead she had made him feel like he was wrong. He suddenly saw his student, Miss. Granger, again, and felt the need to escape.

He made his usual excuses, papers to grade, not feeling well. And then he had left Hermione standing on the dance floor, with just a brief, "Goodnight, Miss Granger.", to keep her company. So she sat in her current predicament, head resting against the cool castle walls, and cursing the elves who had made that wine.

'_This was my only chance!_' she thought to herself miserably, she knew she wouldn't get another one. By the time the morning came Remus would have convinced himself that he was some sort of _pedophile_, and she would be permanently exiled to the land of _platonic_. '_No_'. She thought to herself. She couldn't let that happen, not now. She couldn't handle that.

Hermione quickly made her way through the corridors, hoping not to see any students she would have to reprimand. She made it to the door without incident and before she could talk herself out of it she had knocked.

Remus answered the door promptly, still dressed in his dress robes, but looking exceptionally worn now. His cool confidence had disappeared. "Remus, I need to talk to you," she began.

"Miss. Granger, this really isn't the ideal time. I'll talk with you tomorrow, at a more appropriate hour." He began to close the door.

"No, Remus. I need to talk to you now. Please." Remus hesitated for just a moment.

"What is it you want to talk about?"

"Can I come in?" Remus' face flashed a pained expression for a moment, but he stepped back and allowed her to enter nonetheless. She felt herself calming as she entered the familiar space. His walls were lined with books from floor to ceiling. If it wasn't for the couch and fireplace in the middle of the room, most visitors wouldn't realize it wasn't a library.

"Miss. Granger, I really have to get to bed soon, what is of such importance?" Hermione flinched at his tone, she could feel how badly she had messed up, otherwise he never would have spoken to her that way.

"Well, it's just that Remus. Why are you calling me Miss. Granger?" She said, looking at her feet.

He scratched the back of his head for a moment, "That's your proper name…"

"That's not what I mean," She said quickly. "A few minutes ago I was Hermione—for the last eight years I've been Hermione. Now I make one mistake and I'm back to just being Miss. Granger again?"

"I…" He started awkwardly.

"I'm sorry about what I said…I was out of line. I had drank a little too much, and I was trying…." She trailed off, blushing. "I'm humiliated Remus, and I feel terrible for making you feel uncomfortable."

Remus sighed heavily, "It's alright, Hermione." She smiled at the use of her name. "It was good, what happened. I…I had drank a little more than I should have; I was swept away for a moment. I wasn't…appropriate."

"What do you mean? You were a perfect gentleman, Remus. I was having a wonderful time."

Remus smiled gently at her, "Hermione, you're my student. I should be more responsible." To his surprise Hermione's face turned angry.

"Remus, you don't have to be interested in me, but I'm not _anyone's_ student anymore. You may not have noticed but I am twenty-seven years old, a professor, and the head of Gryffindor house. I'm certainly not a child."

"Of course not, Hermione," He said patronizingly. "But you are still quite young…you don't know what you want from—" He was interrupted by the force of Hermione's hand on his face. "Hermione! What are you—"

"You will not treat me like some silly love-sick child, Remus Lupin!" She shouted, "I repeat, I am twenty-seven years old! According to most people, I am very possibly one of the most brilliant witches alive, I defeated Voldemort, and I have watched nearly everyone I love die!

"If I am old enough to fight off death-eaters, to watch my parents get murdered, and to run Gryffindor house, than I am damn well old enough to choose who I want to be romantically involved with." She paused, wiping a tear from her face. "You don't have to be in love with me Remus, but don't patronize me, don't treat me like a child. Everyone else does…but not you. Please."

Remus stood shocked at her outburst. His thoughts buzzed around him all at once; overwhelmed he tried to find some semblance of reason. As he swatted the thoughts away he heard Hermione speaking, "I'm just going to go…" she was saying.

"What?" He said, "I'm sorry I was in shock for a moment there,"

"I'm just going to go," she said quietly, making her way to the door. "I'm sorry I disturbed you Remus"

"Wait!" He yelled, making her jump, "Please, Hermione, don't go."

"Remus…" She started, "I'm humiliated on numerous levels. Can't I just go home and go to sleep, before my haywire emotions start blowing things up again?"

"Hermione, I've been a fool." Hermione looked up from her feet quickly, "I've…felt for you, for a long time now. A very long time. I just have a lot of trouble moving past the idea of you as a student," He said, choosing his words carefully. "You see, you were never a child to me. You were always older than your peers," He chuckled slightly, "You were older than my peers.

"And so…because I didn't see you as a child then, I don't see you particularly differently now. I mean you _definitely _look different, and you've had different experiences, but you're still the same brilliant, talented, woman that I met when you were only thirteen. Except now you have the body of a twenty-seven year old…" He blushed furiously. "What you said…that was your mistake. But, how I reacted…that was mine. I'm sorry; I shouldn't have patronized you that way. It was just an immediate defense. I was still so confused when you came up here, and I just…snapped."

"I'm sorry." Hermione said softly, "I should have given you more time."

"No, you know as well as I do that by morning I would have been completely closed off." She nodded. "You know, you're right Hermione."

"What about?"

"People shouldn't treat you like that. You've been through more in your life…"

"It's ok, Remus. I'm extremely used to it. I was just feeling self-pitying. I'm sorry for hitting you."

"I deserved it," He said, massaging his jaw. "But now I know how Malfoy felt all those years ago. She laughed, and he thought it was a beautiful sound. Then she touched his face gently, as if afraid.

"You're probably going to have a bruise," She said apologetically. She was right, but at that moment he didn't care about his swelling jaw, he only cared about the soft hand which was touching his face, and the scent of parchment which accompanied it. He instinctively closed his eyes, sighing.

"I'm sorry" Hermione exclaimed, pulling away quickly, "I didn't mean to hurt you!"

Remus chuckled to himself, "You didn't hurt me Hermione."

"Yes, I did," Hermione began, "I keep hurting yo-" Her thoughts were interrupted by Remus' hand on her cheek and his lips on hers. The smell of chocolate assaulted her senses and she instinctively pulled him closer. As her fingers danced through his hair, Remus realized he had never felt so cared for, so _loved_.

He pulled away slightly and held her for a moment, and kissed her gently right below her ear. Somehow this moment was more intimate than anything Hermione had ever felt. Looking at him she knew she would have to ask the question. She couldn't stay here, and be like this with him, if….if it would just be sex. She couldn't. She wouldn't be able to bear that sort of rejection, not from him. He sensed her sudden trepidation, and worried that he had gone too far, showed her too much too soon.

"Hermione," he asked quietly, "Is everything alright?"

"Remus, I have to ask you something," She sighed, "I…I care about you. You are my best friend, and…and I think you could be a lot more for me. I can't just be a one night stand, not with you…" She raked her fingers through her hair, terrified of his response, "I know that I'm not supposed to ask this, not now. But I need to know. Remus, how do you feel about me?"

Remus stared at Hermione, mouth slightly agape. She took this to be a negative reaction and blushed, looking at her feet. In reality Remus was simply in shock. For one, he had never heard of a woman brave enough to ask a question like that, at a moment like this. And second, it had never occurred to Remus that she didn't _know_.

Noting his silence, Hermione stood. "I'm sorry for ruining this Remus, I…I'll just go."

"No, Hermione wait!" He stopped her with a hand on her arm. "I'm sorry, I was just surprised. It never occurred to me that you didn't already know." Hermione glanced back at him hopefully. "Hermione Granger," he said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, "I have been in love with you since you were twenty years old."

"What?" She gasped, "You never... really?"

"It was during the time when you were spending nearly all your time in the library. I was so worried about you, you never took a break. One night I returned to Grimmauld place after a mission, and I didn't want to be disturbed so I made my way to the library to relax and read. I found you fast asleep with a copy of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare." He smiled to himself, remembering the image. "You were peaceful, then. You weren't worrying about Horcruxes or vanquishing spells. You were just—calm. You smiled, and dreamed. Even your hair was calm. That moment, after you had spent so much time lost and angry—that was the first time I had really seen _you _in nearly a year. That's when I started to fall in love with you, or possibly that's the exact moment I fell. But after that moment, I couldn't look away."

Remus looked down, feeling a fear which was uncommon for him. He knew he shouldn't have said all of this so soon, but when she had asked…he had to tell her. And if he was going to tell her, he may as well tell her everything. He took her hand in his, "Hermione, since that night, I have lived simply to hear you laugh, see you smile, or play scrabble with you. When you were hurting…your parents, Harry, Ron. I broke for you. And ever since you've been here, at Hogwarts, my whole life has been dedicated to your happiness."

"Remus…" Hermione said quietly.

"Hermione, I love you. And I think I always will." And with this pronouncement Hermione pounced, her true Gryffindor lioness showing through. She kissed him fervently and her fingers seemed to touch every inch of his body simultaneously.

"I love you too, Remus!" she smiled, "At first I thought it was just a school girl crushed, but…" Pulling away to look at him, she gently touched his face, "It never went away! It's always been you, Remus. Only you." She kissed him gently then, trying to show him every emotion in that single kiss.

The night wore on and their bodies found themselves weaved together, they both felt they were embarking on something entirely new—and neither were complaining.

* * *

Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed. If you're feeling helpful, please review and let me know what you liked and didn't like. Have a lovely day!


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